


Deflowered

by Skylark42



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M, Virgin Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23877484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark42/pseuds/Skylark42
Summary: Jaskier has never been with a man.  Enter Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 535





	Deflowered

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know we all know Jaskier is a slutty, slutty bard, but I became obsessed with the idea that Geralt was his first. I mean, Jaskier was only around 18 when they met, so he could have been. Usually I see it written as Jaskier is the one with experience (with men, at least) and wanted to see it the other way around. I just wanted an inexperienced Jaskier getting taken care of by Geralt.

Jaskier has never been with a man. He's never been with a woman either, unless you count that one time when he was fifteen with the blacksmith's daughter, but her father caught them when he only had the tip in, and then attempted to divorce him from said appendage. Jaskier has never ran so fast in his life.

It isn't that he doesn't want to be with someone. He wants as badly as any other young man of his age. It's just that he prefers to have some manner of feeling for a person before he tries to plow them. He falls in and out of love as often as he changes clothes, but he can never seem to find someone to reciprocate long enough to get to the sex part. Maybe he's a romantic, but he thinks the first time should be special. It's alright though, he's only eighteen and he has plenty of time. The right woman will come along eventually. (He doesn't even consider men, not really, not yet.)

Then there's Geralt. And oh, does Jaskier recognize the attraction. It's not the romantic yearning he often feels, it's something baser than that. He finds himself staring at the white hair, the golden eyes, the calloused hands and wondering. He wants, and he wants, and he wants.

Of course, Geralt doesn't want him. Doesn't really even want him around, but after the first few weeks he resigns himself to the fact that Jaskier is following him. He even requests a room with two beds at the inn, grunts that it's cheaper to share. It's a small victory, but Jaskier cherishes it.

Two weeks later when he's threading a needle through Geralt's skin, stitching up a nasty wound on his shoulder he realizes with a start that he's not thought about leaving Geralt. He only meant to tag along and get a few tales for inspiration. But now the thought of leaving puts a sinking feeling in his stomach. He's gone and caught feelings.

It isn't love, not yet. But it could become love, if he lets it. It's frightening, because he knows Geralt will never feel the same. Would probably ditch him if he knew, the lone wolf that he is. Jaskier thinks Geralt has gotten used to having him around, even started to like it, though he'd never say as much. But this would be too far, too much. The man won't even admit that they're friends.

It drives him to frustration, enough that one night, when he is sure Geralt is asleep in the other bed, he takes his hand to himself and imagines it's Geralt's. He tries to keep his breathing quiet, to not whimper, but Geralt has a witcher's senses, he's doomed from the start. He's looking at Geralt, illuminated by the moonlight and looking as peaceful as he's ever seen him, dick in hand and biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds when Geralt opens his eyes.

Jaskier should stop. Should say something pithy and roll over and in the morning they can pretend this never happened. What he says instead is Geralt's name, breathy and needy. Geralt sits up and looks at him a long moment, saying nothing, then motions with his hand. “Come here,”

Jaskier nearly trips, he gets out of the bed so fast. He stumbles over to Geralt, naked as the day he was born, and climbs atop him, straddling his lap and crashes their mouths together. There's no finesse, no skill, only heat and want and _now_. Geralt is surprisingly less rough than Jaskier imagined, he cups Jaskier's face, slows down the kiss, turns it into something slow and filthy. Jaskier moans into the kiss, threads his hands in Geralt's hair and tugs, the way he's been dreaming of for weeks. Geralt breaks the kiss and sucks a spot under his jaw that has Jaskier whimpering with want. Everything feels on fire, but the burning is good, so good.

“Geralt, been thinking about this for weeks, want you so bad, touch me, fuck me, please,” It all comes out in pants, strung together words he can barely get out past his moans. Geralt sucks his earlobe into his mouth. Jaskier groans. Where do his hands go? He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Maybe he should ask Geralt, Geralt would know.

“Have you done this before?”

Jaskier doesn't _want_ to lie, but he can't tell Geralt the truth. Geralt will think he has to stop then, as stupidly noble as he can sometimes be. “What? Oh, yes, lots of times.”

Geralt pulls back, looks him in the eyes. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier glances away, stares down at Geralt's broad, naked chest. “I've never been with a man.”

“Hmm.”

“That doesn't mean you have to stop. Please don't stop. I can take it, Geralt, I promise that I-”

He's cut off when Geralt flips them over, pushing him down on his back. “You talk too much.”

“Some of us have more than two words in our vocabulary, Geralt, and I'll have you know-”

Geralt kisses him. Jaskier's mouth parts under his and Geralt's tongue plunders inside, kisses him until he has to wrench himself away for air. “If I known shutting you up would be this easy, I'd have done this weeks ago.”

Jaskier very much wants to be offended, but then Geralt wraps a hand around his cock and he forgets to be. Geralt strokes him slow and steady with one hand while the other digs around in his bag and comes back with oil. Jaskier knows what it's for and it's as exciting as it is terrifying. He parts his legs immediately and Geralt seems amused. “Patience, Jaskier.”

Then Geralt's hands are everywhere, his mouth on this throat, his nipples, trailing down, down, down and stopping right before where Jaskier wants it. Geralt stops, leans back a little. “Roll over.”

Jaskier wants to protest, but Geralt knows what he is doing and he doesn't want to stop besides. He rolls over and Geralt kisses down his spine, sucks marks into the nape of his neck. “How long have you thought about this?”

Jaskier couldn't muster the ability to lie if he wanted to. “Since the first day we met.”

Geralt bites down on his neck, laves over it with his tongue. It's so distracting Jaskier doesn't notice Geralt opening the oil and spreading it on his fingers. When a thick finger brushes over his hole, his whole body convulses. Geralt circles it slowly, pushing in just the tip before pulling back out. “Geralt, please-”

Geralt shushes him. He slides the finger in slowly, so slow the burn barely stings. He moves it around, and it feels nice, then he finds something inside him and it feels very nice, so nice that Jaskier cries out, nearly sobbing Geralt's name. Geralt puts his other hand over his mouth. “Do you want to wake up the entire village?”

Jaskier could give a rat's ass about the village. Let them all hear, as long as Geralt doesn't stop. Another finger goes inside him, stretching and scissoring. His cock is so hard it hurts and when Jaskier ruts down into the sheets it's pure bliss. “Fuck me now, Geralt, I'm ready, I can take it, I want it, want your cock”

Geralt nips his shoulder and Jaskier can feel the ghost of a smile there. It's his amused not-smile. “This may be uncomfortable at first.”

“Just do it, do it now, Geralt-”

Geralt does. The burn hurts a little, but the pain feels kind of good, in a weird, indescribable way. Geralt pushes into him and it feels like it'll never stop, like his cock just keeps going forever. Finally he bottoms out and stops, a courtesy, Jaskier supposes, but he's never been one to take things slow so he immediately begins to wriggle.

Geralt fucks into him slow and deep, pinning him to the bed with his body, propped up on elbows above him. Jaskier can't stop moaning, especially when Geralt brushes against that spot inside him. Jaskier bites into the pillow to muffle his moans. He wants to touch his cock but it's trapped beneath him against the mattress and the friction is good, but it isn't enough and he wants to come, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself by coming too soon. And does that witcher stamina apply to sex? He'll have to ask Geralt before the next time—and there will be a next time, he'll be sure of that.

Suddenly, he's being lifted onto his knees and Geralt is slamming into him harder. Geralt swears behind him, then slows down again and Jaskier realizes he's trying to be gentle because it's his first time. It's sweet, really, and it tugs at his heart. (And oh, he is racing towards love now, falling head first.)

It's so good that Jaskier loses since of time. He feels both in his body and outside of it. He wants to touch himself, but he wants Geralt to come first, but he thinks he may come anyway, even without a hand on his dick. Then Geralt is pulling him up, back to his chest and mauling his neck. Jaskier turns his head to catch him in a sloppy kiss. “Harder,” Jaskier pleads.

“Next time,” Geralt says, like a promise and Jaskier is glad they're on the same page about a next time. But first he has to survive this time and he really needs to come, needs Geralt to come so he can. Geralt must know what he's doing, because he reaches down and wraps a hand around him. “Come for me, bard.”

That's all it takes and Jaskier is coming harder than he ever has in his life. His toes curl, his throat goes raw from the shout that escapes and tears leak from his eyes. He's nearly useless after, unable to move, so Geralt just lifts his body and lowers it back unto his cock like it's nothing, and damn if that isn't hot. Geralt comes with a grunt and pulls out almost immediately after. Jaskier lets himself fall into the mattress and try to remember how to breathe. “That was....”

He can't think of words to describe it. Maybe it will come to him in song.

Geralt lies down beside him and almost tenderly brushes his hair out of his eyes. Jaskier's heart aches. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

Jaskier sleeps the best sleep of his life.


End file.
